


The Crossroads of the Force

by liv_k



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, Eventual Romance, Expanded Universe, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liv_k/pseuds/liv_k
Summary: Mandalore in unrest! After a civil war that has ravaged the system for a decade, jeopardising the very survival of Mandalorian culture, the warrior clans of Mandalore still won't achieve piece.After the death of her parents, young Satine Kryze from Kalevala, overcoming the ancestral hatred harboured between her people and the Jedi Order, has asked the Jedi Council for help in restoring peace.Jedi Knight Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi are sent to escort the Mandalorian Lady back to her homeworld. But a more sinister menace awaits them behind battle lines...DISCONTINUED. I will probably start anew after I've finished Balance.





	1. Prologue

**38 BBY, Tracyn**

_The glorious darkness of deep space is the only suitable stage for the momentous play about to unfold._

The hooded man felt his thought filling the small but neat cockpit of the slender starship as he pulled it out of hyperspace.

A pity there would be no other spectator to enjoy the show other then himself, but the lack of a complacent audience was too small a price to pay for him to be bothered.

And at any rate, when the time was ripe, he would have the entire galaxy to applaud him.

_This is just the rehearsal for the grand premiere._

The mere thought of that glorious moment, still shrouded in the mists veiling the path of the future yet nearer each passing day, the moment when a millennium’s worth of waiting was going to be repaid, was sufficient to elicit in him a lust that fiercely burned his soul from within, raging like the lava flows erupting from the crust of the planet below.

He looked down at the approaching globe: its tormented black surface dotted by spouts of crimson was just a pale image of the raw force it hid in its core. The man could feel the dormant power resonating around him, amplified by the strength of his own inner furious resolve, which was staining with blood-red rays the usually blank emptiness that surrounded him in the Force.

It was exhilarating.

But exhilaration had to wait. With a grim sense of purpose he withheld his perception, focusing on the task he had come to accomplish.

“OneOne-Fourdee, bring down the ship to these coordinates.”

“At once, my Lord”, came the answer from the mechanical voice of the droid.

 

* * *

 

 

As the ship drew near the surface, the man started to discern the natural features of the planet: a black crust of sharp spikes of stone over which towered the volcanic peaks that littered the surface, like tumid wounds oozing putrid streams of yellow and red.

The third planet of the Mandalorian system, Tracyn was seat only to a few mining facilities, most abandoned in the aftermath of the civil war.

The ship landed smoothly on an open landing platform pertaining to one of the oldest facilities. As the boarding ramp lowered the man adjusted his cloak to completely cover his features; the Force would enhance his camouflage, making it impossible for anyone to grasp and remember his appearance or his voice.

When the hatch opened, he felt his target’s presence. He had actually come alone, as he had been instructed.

 _Good, good_.

He descended the ramp and found himself on the far end of a long catwalk linking the landing pad to the main compound of the mining facility. There, in front of the open blast door, stood the man he had come looking for. He was completely clad in Mandalorian armour, his figure lit only by the glow reverberating from the lava.

They stood in the starless night, confronting each other across the catwalk.

At last, the offworlder strode towards the Mandalorian. He had called for the meeting, after all. There was no need for a show of willpower.

When he was about ten meters across him, he stopped. Now it was time for the Mandalorian to make his move.

They remained there, unmoving, until at least the Mandalorian broke the silence.

“What is that all about, offworlder?”

His voice was cold and sharp, but the refined perceptions of the hooded man let him hear the subtle edges of fear and anticipation in it.

“Why all this rudeness, Mandalorian? If you were offended by my request to meet, you could have refused my invitation”, he said in a calm tone.

“Don’t play with me. I came because your request was a direct challenge, and no Mandalorian worthy of his name would shy away from one. Now tell me who you are and why you wanted to meet me.”

“Who I am is of no consequence. All you need to know is that I profit from war, thus my interest in Mandalorian affairs. This meeting is not about me, it is about you. You are young, yet I have heard many tales of your prowess. You are strong in body and in mind. You descend from a glorious lineage of pure Mandalorian blood, and I know you crave power and glory. I know you nurture your hate towards the ancestral enemies of your people. I have come to help you reach your ends, since they meet mine.”

Another man would possibly have snorted; the Mandalorian didn’t make a sound.

“Do not insult me, offworlder. No Mandalorian asks for help to reach his ends.”

Any onlooker would have deemed that dialogue unreal: both men were motionless, talking slowly, their voices deadpan. They could have been droids. Droids talking about honour and glory and war and death.

“I understand, and I apologize. After all, I need your help as you need mine. Shall we call it a deal, then?”

“I’m listening. But be quick, I’m running out of patience.”

“Very well. I will show you something. Please don’t attack me, I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“This better not be a trap.”

“It won’t.”

With a swift gesture, the man took something out of his cloak. It was a flat, long rectangular hilt with an angled cross-guard. It looked of ancient craftsmanship. It bore no blade.

Then the man triggered something, and with an ominous hum a long blade of darkness surrounded by a halo of light came to life.

The Mandalorian did not even try to hide his awe, and fell to his knees in reverence.

“The Darksaber. How did you…?”

“This is of no consequence, just as my identity. Suffice to say that in this galaxy everything is for sale for the affluent man… Almost everything. Even a Mandalorian. Even the Darksaber.”

The Mandalorian rose again on his feet, a warrior stance to his every movement.

“A Mandalorian who sells our past tarnishes his name beyond redemption. The Darksaber belongs with Mandalore.”

The offworlder did not answer at once. He let the unsaid threat in the Mandalorian’s stance loom between them, and he fed on the rage and the hate emanating from his opponent.

When he replied, his tone was softer then ever and it chilled his opponent to the bone. To scare a Mandalorian was no small achievement.

“We could not agree more. I want to return your past to you. I will give you the Darksaber, when you are ready. To make sure you are, I will send you an instructor who will teach you how to wield it properly, with Jedi combat techniques. Then I will fund your war. I will provide you with credits and war supplies. I will help you unify Mandalore under your rule.”

“And what do you want in return?”

A thick silence fell between the two man. The offworlder could feel the raw power hoarding around them, generated by the magnitude of the event. He knew the other could perceive it too, even though he was not aware of the source of this foreboding. He sank deeper into himself, pulling in his fall the power gathered around him, pulling it inside him, shaping the Force to flow according to his will, using it as a tool.

“I want the right to mine Mandalorian iron and use it to forge new weapons of my design.”

The silent grew thicker. Then he knew that his tool had not failed him.

_Weapons able to withstand and kill Jedi. And when I am sure you are mine, a full army of Jedi-proof armoured Mandalorians, ready to unleash their fury over an unsuspecting galaxy._

_An army of Mandalorians ready to answer the call which still rages in their blood. Ready to end what the Sith Emperor started thousands of years ago. Ready to destroy the Jedi._

_And this time, if they find another Revan, I will be there to make him fall and make sure he won’t go back to the light._

“We have a deal.”

The man smiled, a smile colder then the icy wastelands of Hoth. He knew that the Mandalorian was lying. He knew that, after he had accomplished his goals, the Mandalorian would turn on his benefactor to try and eliminate him.

He looked forward to that moment: this kind of rage, born out of lust for power, was the first step in learnign the ways of the Sith.

The assassin had been right, the Mandalorian was unaware of being Force-Sensitive, and he was too old now to start a proper training. Too bad for him, but he would serve his purpose better this way. He would be a puppet convinced to be a puppeteer.

His Master would be pleased.

Everything was going as planned.


	2. Missions and visions

# 36 BBY, Coruscant

The moment the doors of the Council Chamber swung open, Obi-Wan felt a strong surge of tension in the Force emanating from the sitting members of the Jedi Council and crawling on his skin like static. Already aggravated by the unusual early morning summoning, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before venturing into the room.

At twenty-one years of age, Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi showed the unmistakable signs of that unsettling stage of life in which a young man is already out of his teens but not yet into adulthood. His oval face was plump and smooth, and in his gentle light-blue eyes still shimmered the light childhood innocence. Yet, those who had known him as a boy were starting to see glimpses of the man he would become: these were patent in his increasingly witty remarks, in the amused lifting of the corners of his lips as he smiled, in the acumen shining alongside innocence in his eyes. But, as his Master Qui-Gon Jinn often thought whit slight concern, if not tempered wit could become mockery, amused smiles could turn into cynic smiles and acumen could lead to arrogance.

But the man was still in the making: most of all, self-doubt kept gnawing at Obi-Wan. It was notably manifest in his gawky stance, which was, at the very moment, enhanced by the unforgiving comparison with that of his Master. As the two reached the center of the room and bowed in front of the revered Council, the graceful arc drawn by long-haired silhouette of the older man stood in stark contrast to the stiffened bending of his Padawan.

 _Grow out of it eventually, he will_. _A fine Knight, he might become_ , the Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Yoda, thought.

“A new assignment for you and your Padawan the Council has, Master Jinn”, he said.

Obi-Wan was long past the stage in which every new assignment was met with anxiety and excitement. After some adventurous (perhaps too adventurous) missions in his early years as an apprentice to Qui-Gon Jinn, nowadays he deemed most of his duties as unbelievably dull. He had hailed their prolonged stay in Coruscant as a respite from the long series of insufferable minor planetary disputes they had been sent to settle. At least in Coruscant he had been able to study and to spar, although after a while even studying ancient history and practicing lightsaber techniques could become tedious.

Add to the lack of thrill the lack of sleep to which this early morning summoning had forced him, the result was a boredom quite unbefitting a Jedi.

An idle thought along the lines of “ _why in the galaxy he has never considered it appropriate to learn how to put properly the verb in a sentence is beyond me_ ” was in fact his only reaction at Master Yoda’s announcement.

A soft pricking feeling in the back of his neck let him know that his Master was fully aware of the thoughts lurking from beneath the mask of deference Obi-Wan was wearing.

Their connection, difficult and painful in their first years together, was now becoming stronger and stronger each passing day. The difference in their personalities was a gap not even their strong mutual affection could ever be able to overcome, but over the years they had discovered that their divergences, far from being an obstacle to their teamwork, were indeed an asset: they had forced both of them to soothe their worst shared flow, stubbornness.

Years before they had started to drop the barriers they had unwillingly built against each other, and now their thoughts and feelings were often so intertwined that mental privacy was starting to become a subject soon worth of a thorough discussion. But the young aspiring Jedi knew that his beloved Master only meant well with this overt prying into his thoughts: had Obi-Wan openly said this same joke to his Master in the privacy of their chambers, he wouldn’t surely have shared his laughter, but he would have offered him a faint chastising smile, the closest thing to a laughter he was able to produce. But there, in the solemnity of a Council summoning, there was no place for joke, not even a inner one, and especially not one about the revered green Master.

Obi-Wan quickly raised from his bow, sat his back straight and emptied his mind, sweeping away all his boredom to focus on the matter at hand. With the corner of his eye he saw Qui-Gon’s faint nod of approval, so subtle no one else in the room could notice it save him, the person closest to his mind and soul. At the thought, Obi-Wan’s heart soared with affection.

“We are ready to receive your instructions, Masters”, Qui-Gon said.

As usually, Master Mace Windu took the floor for the briefing.

“I believe you are both acquainted with the current state of affairs in Mandalore”, the Korun Master said, with an inquiring look. Qui-Gon Jinn nodded, turning with an equally inquiring gaze towards his apprentice. Obi-Wan frowned, trying to recollect scraps of information from his memory, suddenly gone blank.

“Well… I don’t suppose I could pass a contemporary history test on the matter, but I seem to recall something related to civil war, Jedi involvement and treason. Something like that. Rumors, mostly. All classified material, I reckon”, he said, uncertain under the stern gaze of the Masters, while internally cursing himself for spending most of his hours of study researching over ancient history rather than keeping up-to-date about present events.

Mace Windu narrowed his eyes.

“You would most certainly fail such a test, Padawan Kenobi, but not only because of your own shortcomings. Indeed, part of it classified material, but I was afraid rumors had spread, and rightly so. It appears they did, even among Padawans. At any rate, you will be given a datapad with all the historical and political background you need for your mission, and I suggest you study it thoroughly.”

Master Windu lent forwards, his elbows resting on the armbands of his pouf, his hands joint at the fingertips.

“After the brutal civil war which ravaged throughout the Mandalorian system and reached his end after the tragedy of Galidraan, the infighting among the clans on Mandalore itself is once again driving the planet on the verge of full-scale conflict”.

Mace paused, his jaw tightened; a cold silence fell in the room. Obi-Wan did not know the details of the horrid battle that had taken place at Galidraan six years before, and had never dared to ask his master about it: Qui-Gon’s former Master, Dooku, had been directly involved in the incident, whose horrors had triggered his alienation from the Jedi. Rumor had it that somehow the Jedi team sent to Mandalore to stop the ongoing civil war, led by Dooku himself, had been tricked into attacking a group of warriors unjustly accused of war crimes; the battle had turned into a slaughter, of Jedi and Mandalorians both.

But, leaving aside Qui-Gon’s personal feelings and even the disastrous role of the Jedi in the event, war in Mandalore was by all means grim news.

Mandalorians were renowned in the whole galaxy for their unrivalled thirst for bloodshed, which had caused some of the goriest wars in history, as Obi-Wan knew too well from his studies.

 _Well, I know it’s probably just wishful thinking but, in its mysterious ways, the Force could have tried to find a middle ground between dull diplomatic missions and full-scale Mandalorian warfare. You wanted adventures, you’ll have plenty. Serves you right, Obi-Wan_ , he thought bitterly.

“The Jedi have not intervened in the war up to now. No request of help came from Mandalore and, as you know, we can’t interfere in internal wars without an explicit request made to the Senate by at least one of the parts involved. Furthermore, Jedi involvement in Mandalorian matters seemed out of the question after Galidraan. This was the situation until last night, when a plea for help came from the daughter of one of the Mandalorian warlords in a most unusual way. She sent this holorecording to the Temple via a remote control probe droid. Quite the inventive type, I must say”, he said, with an almost amused look.

 _Force, Mace Windu amused. I never thought I’d ever see something like that. This mission keeps getting more and more intriguing. Now I’m almost expecting Yoda to start phrasing properly_ , Obi-Wan thought, bewildered.

The Master of the Order pressed a button on the console of his pouf. The hologram of a cloaked woman appeared between him and the two Jedi standing in the center of the room.

The slender figure was all that could be inferred from the holographic image about her appearance: over what seemed to be a nightgown she wore an heavy hooded cape that hid her face almost completely.

“Revered Masters of the Jedi Order, this is Satine Kryze, second daughter of Duke Adonai Kryze of Kalevala, from the Mandalore system.”

Her shaking voice betrayed the attempt to hide the tears which she probably had shed right up to the moment she had started speaking.

“Forgive me for having made contact in this unorthodox way, but dire circumstances require exceptional measures. I believe the Jedi Council to be acquainted with the state of things on Mandalore. My father, leader of a large force of men, from both Mandalore and Kalevala, was one of the main contenders in the ongoing conflict. He fell yesterday on the battlefield. One hour ago I received the ill news of the deaths of my mother and brother. They died in an explosion which destroyed the ship in which they were trying to flee the planet; all evidence points to assassination. My eldest sister and her newborn son are as yet unaccounted for; they’re presumed dead. Only my youngest sister survives. Allegiance is not inherited on Mandalore, but the fortunes with which my father funded his war efforts are, and if my sister truly is dead I’m his heir. My uncle on my mother’s part, Tor of Clan Daral, has pleaded me to come back to my homeworld from my current residency in Coruscant. He knows my father’s men will want to swear their allegiance to him rather then to me: I’m no warrior, and I’ve lived offworld for too long. I do not know if he wishes for us to reach an agreement or if he plans to kill me and my sister, so he can inherit our fortunes and fund his men; distressing as it is, I can’t rule this option out. My sister is in his custody, and I need to protect her. I will depart for Mandalorian Space as soon as I can arrange a transport”.

There was a pause, and Obi-Wan wondered why in the Galaxy would this Mandalorian girl wish to expose her war plans in front of the Jedi Council: possibly the only thing which could really unite all Mandalorians under the same banner was their ancestral hatred towards the Jedi.

When she resumed speaking her voice was of steel. The sound sent a shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine.

“I do not wish to be killed, nor do I wish to become another pawn in this bloody game. This war must end, and when it happens it won’t be too soon. Too many lives have already been destroyed, and if we do not act fast, the survival of Mandalore itself will be in jeopardy. Furthermore, I don’t believe that either the assassination of my mother and brother and the disappearance of my sister and his son are to be understood as part of the events of common warfare. My uncle may decide to kill me, but he would never have killed his own sister in an explosion. He would have challenged her to a duel, any Mandalorian would have. This is not the Mandalorian way. There is more to this war then meets the eyes. I’m going back to unite my clan and fight, but I will fight for justice, not for vengeance. I want this insane conflict to end, but I am inexperienced, as a warrior and as a leader, and I am searching for guidance. I look up to your wisdom, revered masters, and I come before you searching for your aid. I fear I am at great risk of being manipulated by my own family in order to reach my uncle’s own ends. I do not yet have an agenda, I only know what my aim is: the end of this conflict. I have been away from Mandalore for too long, and I cannot trust anyone there. I need an external advisor, someone above suspicion, someone beyond greed or lust for power, someone who desires peace as strongly as I do. I need a Jedi to come with me to Kalevala and help me restore peace. I humbly beg you to listen to my plea. For the people of Mandalore. For a new age of peace and collaboration between Mandalorians and Jedi. Please.”

The girl bowed and the image faded. Obi-Wan looked at his Master, who seemed to be frozen to the spot, and in more than just as a figure of speech: in the Force, he emanated a glacial glow, visible in his icy look.

“Certainly she doesn’t seem in need of an advisor in rhetoric. Anyway this is… quite unusual for a Mandalorian”, Qui-Gon said at last, his voice constrained in a forcedly calm tone.

“That’s some kind of understatement, Master Jinn”, was Master Windu’s cold reply.

“Why would a Mandalorian ask for Jedi involvement? Especially after… After Galidraan”

“We have gathered some information on this Satine Kryze. She is the nineteen-years-old daughter of one of the most prominent Mandalorian warlords, the allegedly late Duke Adonai Kryze, who was trying to rebuild the disbanded True Mandalorians, the group of warriors destroyed by Dooku.”

“Weren’t they completely annihilated in the battle?”, Qui-Gon asked, a grim strain in his voice. Obi-Wan knew how hard it must be for Qui-Gon to restrain himself from angrily retorting at Windu, who apparently seemed to blame Dooku for the outcome of the battle. He remembered how upset Qui-Gon had been when the news of Galidraan had reached him and how deeply he had grieved for his old Master’s sufferings, even if the two of them were already estranged.

“Alas they were. But they left behind younger siblings and children. They grew up perpetuating the values of their fathers and, led by Duke Kryze, whose eldest sister had died in the battle as well, they have taken their place in the War of the Clans, claiming their share of rule over Mandalore”.

“And now the daughter of the man who tried to rebuild the True Mandalorians from their ashes, ashes that were all that was left of them after the lightsabers wielded by the Jedi burnt them to the ground, is asking for our help. The child of a Mandalorian warlord asking the Jedi for help to achieve peace, no less. Seems a little too convenient, doesn’t it?”, Qui-Gon asked, the defiant irony in his voice no longer withheld.

The silence was now thicker than ever. Obi-Wan found himself gaping at his master in disbelief. He was used to his Master’s occasional defiance towards the Council, but he had never witnessed him showing such open… _hostility_.

“Master Jinn, guard your tongue. You and your Padawan have been chosen to fulfill this mission and escort Lady Kryze home, where you will assess the situation and report it back to us.”

Mace Windu’s voice was sharp as a knife. Yoda remained silent, his eyes closed. The rest of the members of the Council could have been statues carved in stone.

“No, I will not be silent and I will not go to Mandalore”, Qui-Gon retorted. “I’m growing tired of being continuously sent on missions clearly meant to test me. I am no Padawan. You know I never desired to become a Master, I do not crave titles. But I do require your respect and your trust. I do not know why the Council would choose me for this mission, me of all Jedi, unless it was to test me... And to wish to test me on an insane mission means to wish to see me fail. You wish to see Dooku’s old Padawan fail on the same field on which his former Master failed. And please, do not insult my intelligence by telling me you believe this is a normal mission. The girl looks innocent enough, and I’m inclined to trust in the authenticity of her intents, but not even you can be so blind as to vouch for the integrity of all Mandalorians. This is clearly some kind of setup.”

Mace Windu, whose brows had got lower and lower as Qui-Gon spoke, and seemed by then to be on the verge of reaching his lips, opened his mouth to reply, but Yoda, his eyes still closed, interrupted him with a motion of his hand.

“To send you on this mission, mine the decision was, not the Council’s”, he said. “For this blame me you must, if wish to you do. And add also I must, my trust you have; yours to have, we seem not. Sad, that is. But about you this is not, Qui-Gon. About your Padawan this is. Shown me Obi-Wan in Mandalore the Force has. Older he was, wiser. Stronger. With stronger moustache as well, add I must. Fierce indeed”, he added, with a giggle, then became serious again. “In Mandalore his future may lay.”

Obi-Wan, oblivious of any etiquette rule, stared at Yoda in disbelief. Qui-Gon, apparently, was just as bewildered as his Padawan was.

“You are sending me to Mandalore on a mission that is very likely to be a trap only because you have seen that my Padawan will be there when he is old enough to grow a beard? Forgive me, Master Yoda, but that does not make any sense.”

The cold fury in his Master’s voice was the only thing that stopped Obi-Wan from retorting that he was already perfectly able to grow a beard, and he would in fact have worn it, if it weren’t for those stupid rules about the proper attire of a Padawan.

Yoda lifted his eyelids, finally opening his eyes. His gaze was hard.

“To the Force, sense it made, or this vision sent I would be not. To the will of the Force, if not to that of the Council, obey you will, Master Jinn.”

After a moment that seemed an eternity Qui-Gon bowed, subdued but still not appeased.

Yoda’s gaze softened.

“But not only for your Padawan, chosen you for this mission I have. What my old Padawan, your old master, did, able to fix maybe you will be. Testing you, we are not. Trusting you, we are.”

Though honored at Yoda’s statement, Qui-Gon still did not back off.

“But, Master, you surely realize that this all is too unusual. It’s upsetting. I feel something is wrong here. As I said, this may too well be a trap.”

“As heard I have, a policy on traps your Padawan has, Qui-Gon”, Yoda said with a giggle. “Remind us of it will you, Obi-Wan? Hmmmm?”

Obi-Wan had to force himself not to smirk.

“Spring the trap, Master Yoda”, he said, taking a side glance at Qui-Gon. His Master’s face confirmed to Obi-Wan what he already knew. _I’m in for a very long lecture about overconfidence,_ he thought, resigned.

Yoda giggled again.

“Very wise your Padawan is, Qui-Gon. Listen to his advice, we will.”

Qui-Gon didn’t reply, and Master Windu took the floor once again.

“I for one agree with you on this, Master Jinn. This request of Lady Kryze is most unorthodox. Moreover, she has chosen to plead her case directly to the Council, disregarding the Senate. We believe she does wishes to avoid Republic involvement, but we have no further clue as to her true agenda. She may be acting with someone else. We have decided to overstep our legal boundaries in accepting her request only because of Master Yoda’s insight”. It was clear that the Korun Master disagreed. “Your official assignment will be an humanitarian mission aimed to finding the missing eldest daughter of Duke Kryze, heir apparent to one of Kalevala richest families, and to protect her younger sister from the eventuality of assassination attempts. Out of the records, your true mission will be to try and gain insight into this garbled conflict, in the hope of finding a peaceful solution. The first stage of your mission will be to escort Lady Satine Kryze to Kalevala; during the journey, you will keep an eye on her and try to find out what her family is up to. With their wealth and manpower they can very well be the ones to tip the scale on this conflict. The second stage, the most important, will be to inspect the status of things on Mandalore. You will check in every day at eight hour to fill us in on what you find out. Do not rush things, we wish to keep this mission as quiet as possible. You will meet Lady Kryze at the spaceport; your ship is scheduled to depart in secret at sunset. You are dismissed.”

Yoda nodded.

“May the Force be with you”, he saluted.

With a final bow (and, from Obi-Wan’s part, a final interior chuckle in confirming once again how this last sentence was the only one in the galaxy Yoda seemed able to get right) they left the Council Room.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, in the apartment they shared, Obi-Wan was anxiously watching his Master with the corner of his eye. His own attempts at trying to learn all he could about Mandalorian recent history from the datapads he had been given by the Mission Briefings Office were being severely undermined by his Master restlessness.

While trying to take no notice of Qui-Gon’s continuous pacing the room, he had painstakingly learnt that, after the catastrophic pre-emptive war the Republic had waged against Mandalore seven hundred years before, a new political view had arose in Mandalore, that of pacifism.

The pacifist sect of the so-called New Mandalorians had gained control over the planet and Mandalore, soon followed by other planets in the system, had joined the Republic.

Unfortunately, after centuries of peace, some years before tension had started rising once again among the warrior clans who still dwelled in the system. A new sect, whose adepts called themselves “True Mandalorians”, led by the warrior who had claimed the ancient title of Mand’alor, had been trying to regroup under its banners the scattered warriors living as mercenaries. The True Mandalorians wanted to restore Mandalore to the glories of its warrior past: they upheld values such as honor and aimed to become once again the most feared and admired warriors in the galaxy.

Many mercenaries had readily joined the True Mandalorians, but many others had refused to stick to a moral code that banned them from the merciless bloodshed they had learnt to enjoy; these violent extremists had formed a splinter group they called “Death Watch”.

Tension between True Mandalorians and Death Watch had soon escalated to the point of no return, and open conflict had ensued. After a years-long war, the leader of Death Watch, Tor Vizsla, had put an end to it in a way most appropriate to the non-principles he championed: by deceits and betrayal.

The governor of the Mandalorian planet Galidraan, in a secret agreement with Vizsla, had asked the True Mandalorian to help him get rid of a group of rebels in exchange for information on Death Watch secret base; as the True Mandalorians were holding up their part of the bargain striking at the rebels’ camp, the governor had called on the Jedi Council for help, alleging that a group of terrorists had launched an attack on his planet. Death Watch had supplied the evidence of the alleged slaughter, showing the Senate the bodies of innocent civilians that they themselves had killed. The Jedi strike team, led by Dooku, had blindly believed the governor; the battle of Galidraan, fought deep in the snow, had seen the utter destruction of the innocent True Mandalorians.

After the carnage at Galidraan open conflict had ended, though, because of the vacuum of power the annihilation of the True Mandalorians had caused, soon a number of small-scale conflicts had started arising on the planet of Mandalore itself among the clans who had not adhered to the New Mandalorians’ peaceful ways.

Obi-Wan was trying very hard to sort out all the intricate inter-clan relations like who had married whom, who owned what and the kind, but his Master’s snorts where by then too loud for him to succeed in properly concentrating.

Since their dismissal from the Council hours before, Qui-Gon had been pacing their small living room, stopping from time to time only to snort and complain. The only real pause had been when he had gone to the ‘fresher, but even then Obi-Wan had heard him grumbling from behind the closed plasteel doors.

He was not eager to confront his temperamental Master, but neither he was to spend the entire mission with him brooding over the wrongdoings of the Council and the folly of their mission. He knew the sooner he’d been done with it, the better. With a sigh, he rose to his feet.

“Master, will you please tell me what’s troubling you? Your pacing is louder than that of a bantha, and I am trying to concentrate.”

“If you wish to concentrate, Obi-Wan, the Archives Reading Room is two levels down. I thought you knew.”

“And if you wish to walk yourself to death, Master, the garden is outside. I thought you knew that as well.”, Obi-Wan retorted, with a half-smile despite his Master’s rudeness.

Qui-Gon turned towards him with a ferocious glow in his eyes, ready to viciously snap at hip, but when he realized his Padawan’s amusement at his sulking mood, he sighed, lifting his eyes towards the ceiling.

One of the best things about growing up, Obi-Wan had come to realize, was the liberty he now had to tease his master in ways he had never dared before. Their relationship had grown a lot in the years since the beginning of their partnership: from the father-like figure Qui-Gon had been in those first, troubled years, he had become more of a mentor, and was by then starting to become something like a friend. This recent development, Obi-Wan had often thought, was the only positive outcome of the tragedy they had endured three years ago, the death of Tahl, the fellow Jedi who Obi-Wan had loved as a mother, and Qui-Gon…

Qui-Gon had loved Tahl, period; he had loved her as only one who chooses to pledge his life to another living being can love.

Her death had nearly destroyed him, swaying him hazardously toward the Dark Side, but Obi-Wan’s loving sympathy in those heart-breaking months had both deeply strengthened their relationship and helped Qui-Gon keep his balance.

At first, Qui-Gon had looked for Obi-Wan to ease his pain merely with his sympathetic presence; after many cups of Sapir tea drunk together in the early morning, he had started opening himself up to his apprentice, confiding to him things he could not or would not confide to the Council. At last, Qui-Gon had started seeing Obi-Wan not as an apprentice anymore, but as a peer, or at least something near to a peer.

Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan was still growing, that his comprehension of the inner secrets of mind and heart was still sorely lacking, due to the inexperience in those things that was a frequent side-effect of the monastic ways of a life lived by the Jedi Code.

Yet, even if he still lacked this kind of understanding, which only time and experience could grant him, what made Obi-Wan so precious to Qui-Gon was his peculiar wisdom, which manifested itself not so much in prudent phrases and cautious actions rather than in his kind smile and witty humor, as it had in just that moment: when any other Jedi would probably have uttered some useless Jedi adage in order to pull Qui-Gon out of his bad mood, Obi-Wan had instead decided to gently tease him, making him feel stupid and loved at the same time.

“I would demand that you guard your tongue, my young apprentice, but I won’t give Master Windu the satisfaction of employing myself this most annoying catchphrase of his. So, for now, you win”, Qui-Gon said, his face enlightened by one of his rare smiles. “I’m sorry for my mood, Obi-Wan. It is just that this does not feel right. Why has a Mandalorian asked for Jedi intervention? And not some random Mandalorian but the niece of one of the Galidraan casualties, nonetheless! This makes no sense at all.”

“I understand your concerns, Master”, Obi-Wan said, frowning, “but I don’t think we can sort it out unless we actually… spring the trap, as Master Yoda made me say.”

Qui-Gon smiled wearily.

“My Master’s Master setting my own Padawan against me… What have I done to deserve this?”

“I am sorry Master, but you know… Master Yoda kind of outranks you, and I didn’t mean to rob you of an occasion to remind me how fussy I am over protocol, titles and such. I had to please him, you know.”

“Then let me congratulate on you, my young Padawan, for much to my shame I foresee a day when you will be part of the Council. But for the moment let me remind you that I do not entirely share Yoda’s vision on your supposed wisdom.”

Obi-Wan laughed, then suddenly darkened, in obvious unease.

“Master, since we are talking about Yoda… Can I ask you something?”

Qui-Gon stared at him in concern.

“You don’t need my permission to ask me anything. Go on, Obi-Wan.”

“I don’t know what to make of what Master Yoda said about me, Master”, he said, stroking his smooth chin with his hand. “I can’t understand why he said this mission was more about me than about you. What can a vision of me on Mandalore in the future mean? It’s not like it’s a secondary planet a Jedi is unlikely to be sent to. There could be dozens of missions of Mandalore awaiting me in my future life as a Jedi having no link to this particular one. ”

Qui-Gon scowled.

“Obi-Wan, let me tell you something. Off the record, I must say”, he added with a smirk. “Master Yoda is always so focused on what is yet to come I’m amazed he hasn’t yet found himself time-travelling in the future, leaving us all behind to stew in our narrow present. As I always tell you, you must be mindful of the future…”

“ _…but not at the expense of the present_. I know, Master”, Obi-Wan complemented, striving to prevent himself from rolling his eyes.

“You don’t seem to understand it yet”, his Master replied with a smile. “

“But don’t you think this can be trouble? Well, maybe not, Yoda would have told me if he had seen some danger after all.”

Qui-Gon snorted.

“You seem to trust him a little too much for your own good, Obi-Wan. Master Yoda particularly enjoys putting others to the test without them realizing it.”

“Master!”, Obi-Wan exclaimed, amused. “I understand what you mean and I think him too capable of sending me right into the rancor’s den… but I believe he would at least warn me beforehand. _Of what ahead of you lies, beware you must, young Obi-Wan_ ”, he added, making Qui-Gon laugh out loud.

“Very well, young one. Then we will spring this trap of yours as well, all in due time. For now, let us meditate, so you can focus again on the present instead of going after a future only Master Yoda can forsee”.

“Of course, Master”, Obi-Wan replied, with a sigh of resignation.

 _Well, at least he is no longer brooding. That at least had been easier than I expected,_ he thought.

Qui-Gon closed the window shutters, dimming the light in the room, then sat on the floor with his legs crossed. Obi-Wan did the same, positioning himself in front of his Master. He closed his eyes, letting self-consciousness drift away from him as he sunk deeper into the Force.

“Very good, Obi-Wan. Expand your senses and focus on the Living Force. Feel the currents of life dancing and swirling around you and inside you. Feel your place in the here and now.”

Obi-Wan sighed. He had long stopped craving for the same understanding of the Living Force his master had, and he wished that Qui-Gon would eventually give up as well on this part of his training, but for his Master’s sake Obi-Wan tried to comply with his instructions.

He closed his eyes and let his conscious self dissolve into the Force. He expired, exhaling his consciousness along with his breath and following its flow through his surroundings, until he could feel everything in the room, from the dust dancing in the sunrays to the drops of water clinging to the tap. Over everything else loomed the imposing aura of his Master. The bright sphere of light emanating from Qui-Gon pulsed at the rhythm of the breath of the plants growing outside their window. The rational thought of the deep connection the Jedi had with all living things, nonsentient as well, unbalanced Obi-Wan for a moment, and his consciousness withdrew toward his body.

As Qui-Gon always said, he thought too much.

He struggled to regain his focus and exhaled again, letting go of all his rational thoughts and physical perceptions.

He expanded more slowly this time, until he could not only feel everything around him but also _be_ everything around him. He was the sunlight, he was every particle of dust, he was the fly searching for breadcrumbs on the tablecloth, he was his Master and himself.

And then he felt it, a strong pull in the Force, driving him onwards, towards the future. A part of him, probably the part of him that was Qui-Gon, told him not to follow, to stay focused on the here and now, but another part of him, the part that was him, wanted to follow.

After a brief struggle he let go of everything and followed.

He was blind and deaf, and could not feel his body at all. He could only feel the power of the Force. He was a river, running, running for ages in a green lush scenery, and then suddenly tumbling down in free fall, in a haze of blue, blue like the swirling blade of his lightsaber. He fell, he tried to reach out, to hold onto something, but around him there was only light and he could not get hold of it…

_Of course I can’t get hold of light, light is immaterial. I am one with the Force._

He was again himself, and for a moment was not afraid: if the Force was making him fall, that could only mean he was supposed to fall.

_But if I am one with the Force, am I dead? Well, never mind: there is no death, there is the Force. And if there is one thing I know, it is that here there is the Force. It is everywhere._

He fell and fell. But then, while he was still falling, he felt another power lifting him from his fall with a pull opposite and equal to that of gravity. He had supposed that, since even if he was in the Force he was still thinking with his human mindset, the Force was shaping itself to adhere to the principles of physics he could understand.

This new sensation was the most unpleasing he had ever felt in his whole life because it went against all the principles his body and his mind could understand. In the physical world, if subject to gravity and to an opposite and equal pull, he would have come to an halt.

But in the world of the Force, he was falling and rising at the same time.

He wanted it to stop.

_Where do you want to go?_

He didn’t hear the voice, he felt it in the Force, coming from the blue light surrounding him and from inside him.

_Up or down? Forwards of backwards?_

_Where should I go?_

_It’s up to you._

_But how can I chose if I don’t know what’s ahead and what behind?_

_You have to trust yourself._

_I can’t. I am afraid. And fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Fear is the path to the Dark Side. I don’t want to fall to the Dark Side. I don’t want to fall. I want to go back._

As soon as he perceived his own wish, before he had even fully formulated it, he felt himself rise to the stars with breath-taking speed.

He screamed.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself laying on the floor of the kitchen, his arms and legs sprawled, his clothes soaking with sweat, his head on his Master’s lap. Qui-Gon was bending over him, a worried look etched on his face, his hands holding Obi-Wan’s shoulders in a firm grip, evidently to prevent him from harming himself as he thrashed around in his convulsions. He tried to rise but his Master held him down.

“Obi-Wan! Easy, boy. Are you all right?”

“I believe so.”

Qui-Gon sighed, letting go of his grip on his apprentice’s shoulders.

“When I told you to follow the Force, I did not mean to follow it to your death.”

Obi-Wan scowled, pulling himself up. He took off his soaked tunic, grabbed a kitchen towel from the hooks under the sink and started mopping up the sweat from his chest.

“This is not what I did, Master.”

He related to Qui-Gon everything that had happened.

“What does that mean, Master?”

The worried look on Qui-Gon’s face had deepened even more.

“First of all, this means you never listen to me. I told you to focus on the present, not to go on a wild Bantha chase after your future. Look where it got you”, he said, shaking his head. “At any rate, this is not the time for reprimands. Tell me: why did you chose to go back, to turn upwards?”

“What was I supposed to do? I wan in an impasse, I had to do something.”

“Yes. You clearly had to choose. Why did you chose to come back?”

A deep frown lined Obi-Wan’s forehead.

“I can’t tell you for sure, Master. When I started falling I was not afraid, it was as if it was supposed to happen. But then, when I felt the pull to raise, suddenly I was afraid. I was terrified. I think… I think I chose to come back because back meant safe. Back meant here. Here with you, with the Jedi. You know… When faced with the choice, I chose not to fall. I thought that to fall meant, you know, falling to the Dark Side. I think I chose not to.”

He gaped as he fully realized the scope of what he had seen.

“Do you think I will be tempted to fall to the Dark Side?”, he asked his Master in a frightened whisper. He was shaking.

Qui-Gon put a reassuring hand on his still sweating shoulder.

“Calm down, Obi-Wan. The Dark Side is always there, lurking in the shadows, eager to claim us, to take advantage of any weakness we show. We are always prone to temptation. Perhaps you will be tempted, but perhaps the meaning of your vision was entirely different. Only time will tell. Once again, do not focus on the future. What good did that do to you?”

Obi-Wan looked at him, anguish etched on his face.

“But what if it’s true? What if I will be tempted?”

“Let’s put it this way: the Dark Side itself is a trap. What do we do?”

“We spring it”, Obi-Wan replied with a wry smile.

“All in due time. As for now, I don’t think you will be able to continue your research today”

“I suppose not. All I want right now is a shower and some food”

“Go take a shower. I will throw a meal together. But first”, Qui-Gon added with a smirk, “let me go to the mess hall to fetch two cans of New Tarisian Ale. I suppose we both earned it.”

 


	3. To Mandalorian space

Rain was pouring from the leaden Coruscanti sky, and an icy wind was sweeping through the skyscrapers and over the of Galactic City, reaching with its frozen whips the open landing pad of the vast GC spaceport where the two Jedi stood, trying with little success to find cover from the rain under the plastene canopy that sheltered the speeders’ station where they had been dropped off .

While his master seemed to be in control of his bodily temperature, Obi-Wan felt every gush of wind sneaking like damp, cold fingers under his robes and freezing him to his bones.

He hated to admit it, but he feared he would not have felt so cold had he not been already chilled to the bone by the scare he still harbored from the vision of the afternoon, whose effects on him had not yet lifted. Not even the Tarisian Ale, his most cherished guilty pleasure, in which unfortunately as a Jedi he could rarely indulge, had been able to cheer him up; he had drunk it without savoring the flowery taste he usually enjoyed so much, able only to hope that a little dizziness could wash away the memories of his daunting mystic experience.

He still found it hard to focus (possibly because of the ale as well as of the vision) and was so chilled that he had to call on the Force to stop his teeth from rattling.

 _That’s not exactly how I like to start a new mission_ , he grimly thought. He cast an hopeful glance at their ship, a robust and warm-looking Aka’jor-class shuttle of Mandalorian manufacture, which was waiting for them on the pad. Unluckily, the girl they had been sent to escort was still nowhere to be seen.

“Just our luck that the WeatherNet decided it had to rain this afternoon”, Obi-Wan groaned at last, clutching his cape against the wind.

“You know there is no such thing as luck, Obi-Wan”, his master rebuked him, a smile hidden under his frown.

“Of course, Master. It’s the will of the Force then,” he responded flatly, “but I don’t get why the Force would want us to appear in front of Lady Kryze like a pair of drowned rats.”

Qui-Gon sighed. He knew that Obi-Wan was still distressed by the vision he’d had, but the mere fact that someone as unglamorous as his Padawan, of all the possible cold-related worries, decided to worry about his looks meant they had truly lingered too long on fashion-obsessed Coruscant.

“Since when have you… Oh no”, he said, trying to stir him out of his bad mood by teasing him, “You know you shouldn’t be worrying about what girls think of your looks, do you?”.

“Master!”, Obi-Wan wailed, outraged and for a moment oblivious of cold. “Don’t tease me! I merely think our first appearance as Jedi should be dignified. I don’t care at all about looking charming to some adolescent wannabe warlord.”

Just as Qui-Gon was going to point out to his apprentice that his pose, hunched against the wind, combined with his worst sulking face was quite far from the dignified stance of a Jedi, suddenly a cloaked figure materialized out of the rain, coming from the door of the turbolift leading from the Spaceport pedestrian entrance and running to an halt beside them under the shelter of the canopy.

The two Jedi did not even bother to put their hands on the hilt of their lightsabers. The Force hadn’t warned them at all; the newcomer could pose no danger and they had a feeling it was the girl they were waiting for.

The figure lowered her hood and bowed at them, panting from the run and proving their guess right.

“Honored Masters. I am Satine Kryze and I humbly thank you for having come to my aid”, she said, her slow inflection an odd yet sophisticated mix of youth and sharpness.

When she lifted her face, Obi-Wan could finally get a look at her. She was slender and of average height, a little shorter than him. Her pale triangular face, framed by long blond hair, sported lean features: high cheekbones, pointed chin, sharp nose, thin lips. Her hard, bony appearance was somehow softened by her gentle ice-blue eyes.

She seemed younger than she was and her attire did not help either: under the heavy black cape, clearly too big for her, she wore azure leggings and a short turquoise dress of a design in vogue amidst Coruscanti university students.

 _She looks smart enough, but she reminds me more of a school-girl playing truant than a Mandalorian leader_ , Obi-Wan thought while reciprocating the courtesy.

“We are the ones that should be thankful for the trust you placed in us”, his Master was saying. “Qui-Gon Jinn at your service, Milady. This in Obi-Wan Kenobi, my Padawan apprentice.”

“At your service, Milady.”

The girl turned to face him and eyed him from head to foot. For some reason, his presence seemed to displease him. The scrutiny put Obi-Wan at unease, above all because he didn’t think to deserve such a condescending look.

At any rate, he seemed to have met at least what she held as average standard for a Jedi escort, for she looked back to Qui-Gon without apparent changes in her expression.

“I wasn’t aware you were planning to bring an apprentice along. The Council told me they would assign me one of their Knights”, she said sternly.

Qui-Gon’s surprise at her harsh remark was only shown by an imperceptible raise of his eyebrows, while his Padawan’s efforts to hide his own feeling of wounded pride were far less successful.

“Knights do often have Padawans, Milady. A Knight and a Padawan make an indissoluble unit, we count as one. It’s a two-for-one deal, twice the security for you”, he added with a gentle smile.

The girl’s stern glaze did not falter under Qui-Gon’s smile.

“I don’t like getting deals I did not bargain for”, she replied with the same dry tone, “ and besides, my plans were made counting only one Jedi in. Now I must revise them, and we don’t have much time. Follow me on my ship, please, Masters. We really must be going.”

Before turning away toward the ship, the girl cast an unimpressed gaze at Obi-Wan, whose expression had shifted from an insulted frown to an hardly-contained and really unbecoming gasp. Attentive to protocol as he was, he could not fathom how a girl so young could speak like that to a Jedi Knight. Though his Jedi pride was deeply wounded, he had to admit to himself he admired her nerve at facing and standing her ground against someone so imposing as his Master, who was now staring blankly at the spot where she had been.

After a few seconds of reverie Qui-Gon sighed.

“A fine prototype of Mandalorian Assault Tongue, I’m afraid. Let’s just hope this is not the new trend in Mandalorian weaponry, or I’m in for some dire times. Sharp tongues are your arena”, he said, warily. “Go on, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know if he was more startled at the girl’s brashness or at Qui-Gon’s unhappy attempt for a joke.

 _He must be shaken indeed_ , he thought. _Mandalorian Assault Tongue. I just hope he says this to her face someday._

They ran through the rain to the boarding ramp and got onto the ship, dripping water on its plasteel floor. As soon as they were on board they took their soaked robes off. Without her cape, the girl looked even smaller, almost frail. Moreover, the unforgiving artificial light of the ship fully showed the signs of the grief she had tried to conceal under the hood: her eyes were red and swollen, her face blotchy, and her hair, clearly in need of a comb, bore the signs of a sleepless night. Obi-Wan felt a deep surge of compassion for the skinny teenager, who right now seemed nothing more than an orphaned child.

Qui-Gon’s frown softened. Whatever her ends could be, whatever his doubts could be, her grief was sincere.

 _So much for his doubts over the mission. Here we are once again, picking up pathetic lifeforms throughout the galaxy_ , Obi-Wan thought fondly. _And to think that on Melida/Daan he made me abandon the Order because for once I was concerned about people. You wretched hypocrite, Master Jinn._

Aware of the sudden concern her grieved looks had evoked in her companions, the girl straightened her face and tightened her lips. The moment was gone, and Obi-Wan guiltily thought he liked her more as a skinny orphan than as a brash school-girl.

“Please, follow me to the passengers compartment where we can talk more comfortably”, she said, all politeness.

Without a word the two Jedi followed her to the passengers seats in the area just behind the cockpit. The girl sat, her tiredness betrayed by the speed of her drop on the cushioned seat: it looked almost as her knees had given out.

“I apologize for my previous brashness, Masters”, she began, startling Obi-Wan.

 _Is she able to read minds? Or are our thoughts too conspicuous?_ , he thought, as she resumed talking after a brief pause, in which Qui-Gon had acknowledged her excuses with a slight bow.

“These events have caught me unprepared. I have received diplomatic and military training, but I have tested neither on the field. I did not have much time to arrange my return to Kalevala and I am afraid my plans are farfetched. You know, I may be an _adolescent wannabe warlord,_ as Padawan Kenobi has so gently put it”, she said viciously, not even looking at the blushing Obi-Wan, “but I am smart enough to believe it unwise for me to enter Mandalorian space with a Jedi escort”.

Qui-Gon, after a passing glance at his Padawan, that Obi-Wan read as _What do I always tell you about not voicing out loud every single one of your witty remarks?_ , lifted his eyebrows.

“So why did you ask for one, Milady?”

She looked at him, bewildered.

“I am not saying I shouldn’t have brought you into this, although I’m still not sure it was a good idea. I’m only saying you need to be undercover, but I have planned just one cover story. Is it really necessary for your apprentice to tag along?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to respond, outraged, but his Master prevented him.

“He is, Milady. I am sorry. You should have informed the Council of your needs and strategies beforehand. And I must remind you that I am in charge of your security. From now on there won’t be such thing as _your plans_.”

The girl, even if thus rebuked, didn’t lower her stern gaze.

“Very well, Master Jinn. Then may I present you some… _suggestions_ for our plan?”

Obi-Wan flinched, amused. Qui-Gon nodded, impassive.

“My uncle has me cornered. Since my shuttle doesn’t have quarters and he insisted for me to be “accommodated according to my rank”, I’m to take the Perlemian Route on my own and then rendezvous with his man at Brentaal; they are to escort me along the Hydian Way to Mandalorian space with a luxury ship. To avoid any kind of personal enterprise, he hired two Mandalorian mercenaries to escort me until Brentaal, on the pretense of “ _not wanting to put me under the stress of piloting my ship_ ”. That’s why I asked you to meet beforehand here, it’s the only safe place I know. It is my personal vehicle, and all its security terminals, plus those of the landing pad, have a one-way encrypted link for data transmission with my datapad only. No one can spy on us while we are here and we can speak freely. My plan was to introduce you as my personal advisor, some random political philosopher from Coruscant University. No Mandalorian would take you seriously… or me, for that matters, which is entirely to our advantage.”

Qui-Gon’s eyebrows had almost reached its hairline.

“So they will underestimate us, thus making it easier for us to sneak around and plan our moves”, Obi-Wan intervened, speaking slowly. He was starting to understand how her mind worked. “Good call, Milady.”

_She is arrogant but clever. This mission is truly going to be interesting._

“Thank you, Padawan”, she replied, addressing him a faint smile. “The problem is, we now have to devise a role for you. A relative is out of the question, everyone knows my whole family; the same goes for fiancée, it would put me in a bad light.”

Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan stiffen at the word “fiancée” and forced himself to suppress a grin.

“Is he that bad looking?”, he asked in a business-like tone. Obi-Wan blushed and cast his Master a resentful glance. Teasing was his business, he hated when Qui-Gon teased him because he was afraid he could not retort as freely as he would have wanted to.

The girl chuckled, and the air around them felt suddenly lighter, tension slipping away from the conversation. Obi-Wan understood that she had been in dire need of a more cordial approach towards her escort, but hadn’t dared showing it out of fear of being underestimated. He had to admire, for the hundredth time, the way Qui-Gon was able to plunge into the currents of the Living Force to understand the currents sweeping in the souls of those around him, and the gentle way in which he entered those current to soften the hardest feelings.

“That’s not for me to judge, Master”, she replied with regained, even if partly faked, seriousness, “but he is no Mandalorian, and anyway such a close connection would put him under strict scrutiny. We do not want too many eyes on us.”

“I was only teasing my apprentice, Milady. I would not advise that solution either. What about a bodyguard?”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“Why in the galaxy would a Mandalorian hire a teenage bodyguard?”

Since the start of the conversation Obi-Wan had been feeling like a pendulum swinging back and forth from annoyance to amusement. This time the shift was rather toward annoyance.

“Says the mature woman”, he snapped. “I am no teenager and I am more than capable of being your bodyguard. That’s exactly what the Jedi council sent us here for in the first place, and what you asked in the first place, if I remember correctly.”

“How old can you be? Twenty-two?”, she retorted.

“Twenty-one”, he said grudgingly. “But that’s not the point. I am a well-trained Jedi! Why would you have asked for Jedi help if you don’t even trust us to pretend being bodyguards?”.

This time he was really starting to lose his temper.

Qui-Gon, amused, kept silent. He knew Obi-Wan would grow out of his temper, eventually. Maybe this mission was the right moment to, but he’d have to learn how to on his own.

The girl softened her gaze and smiled at Obi-Wan.

“I believe you, Padawan. Do not misunderstand me, I am not questioning your abilities. But put yourself in the shoes of a Mandalorian onlooker, seeing me getting back from Coruscant with a suspiciously young twenty-years-old non-Mandalorian bodyguard accompanied by a mature unknown counselor. What would you think?”

“Jedi”, he conceded. She had a point, and he was starting to feel like an idiot, as he always did when he let his temper get the upper hand. He knew his strength lay in his wits, and to profit from it he had to remain calm.

_She is certainly making that hard._

“Exactly”, she replied. “And we don’t want that to happen. Not yet, at any rate.”

“Do you have any idea, then?”, Qui-Gon enquired, feeling it was better if he took matters back into his hands.

“A pilot”, she replied with a mischievous smile. “You are a philosopher and anyone knows philosophers are full of quirks and idiosyncrasies; yours is that you won’t fly unless your ship is piloted by your own young but trusted pilot. These mercenaries won’t mind, as far as they get their pay.”

Obi-Wan grinned. The idea of Qui-Gon posing as an eccentric philosopher was truly entertaining and he was looking forward to seeing him in action.

“I think you are enjoying this far too much, my young apprentice”, his Master said scornfully.

“I think I am, Master”, he replied laughing.

“You have two hours to get yourselves some clothes. We will meet here with my esteemed mercenary escort and leave as soon as you are ready.”

 

* * *

 

That first stage of the plan had gone quite smoothly, Obi-Wan had to admit. None of the two men had as much as blinked in learning that the young, naïve heir to the Kryze clan was going home in the company of some obscure, velvet-clad Coruscanti holy man.

Unfortunately, one of the two hired men was actually fond of flying, and had consented grudgingly to letting this young man in leather pants and smuggler jacket taking command of the ship. The fake pilot didn’t enjoy much the part of the plan that entailed his relegation in the cockpit with the annoyed Mandalorian pilot, with whom he had to pretend to be perfectly able to fly a ship he had never seen before, let alone piloted.

Obi-Wan did not dislike flying, and he was certainly more at ease in piloting a shuttle (a Mandalorian shuttle! That seemed to come straight out of some history datapad!) than he would have been, for instance, in space combat: after all, the beauty of flying lay in the beauty of space, and combat didn’t leave enough time to enjoy its wonders: the pale light of the stars, the velvet darkness of deep space, the kaleidoscopic colors of planetary surfaces.

Above all, he was genuinely fond of hyperspace travel, but he had never had the chance to make the jump himself: now he would have to, and was eager to. Nonetheless, he would have preferred to be alone in the cockpit and have all the time he needed to quietly examine the ship’s controls without a grim companion ready to notice any error on his part. He was also eager to see how Qui-Gon was playing along in his masquerade.

“So, young one”, the Mandalorian enquired, “how long have you been piloting this fancy ship? Can’t believe that boss of yours has convinced the Duchess to fly on a ship piloted by an kid. She must be out of her mind.”

 _Next time someone makes a remark on my age,_ Obi-Wan grudgingly thought, _I’ll show them I’m old enough to cut their tongue off with my saber._

“Duchess? Didn’t she have an elder sister to claim the title?”, he replied instead. Using small-talk to gather information about their ward seemed a good idea. Maybe he would be able to get to know something she herself wouldn’t have told them.

In the meantime, as Lady Kryze had given the signal for departure through the ships’ commlink, he started prepping for takeoff.

“Her sister is presumed dead. And on Mandalore, presumed dead means dead.”

Obi-Wan awkwardly chuckled, feeling uncomfortable at the matter-of-fact tone the man had used.

“Well, life seems dull on Mandalore”, he said.

The Mandalorian grinned.

“You bet. I don’t know how you guys are not boring yourselves to death out here. By the way, name’s Ylon.”

Obi-Wan realized in dismay that he hadn’t thought about a false name for himself; he took advantage of the time he needed to take off to come up with an alias. He lifted the boarding ramp and activated the repulsorlifts, while powering up the main engine.

“Ready for takeoff, strap yourselves in”, he announced in the ship’s commlink, then turned back again to Ylon.

“Sorry, not able to talk and work at the same time. I’m Ben. And, you know, I think we guys out here prefer being boringly alive than entertainingly dead.”

The Mandalorian frowned.

“What about gloriously alive?”

Obi-Wan repressed a sigh.

_I need to learn how to pilot this ship. I don’t have the time to argue over the meaning of life with a Mandalorian hired gun._

“Maybe, but my job’s just piloting. I’m glorious enough in hyperspace, you know.”

“You may be a good pilot, kid, but you don’t even know what being a warrior is. None of you does. That’s the reason why in the end we will win”, he said.

Obi-Wan bit his lips to prevent himself from retorting with some unfortunate (and very un-Jedi like) phrase such as _Oh yeah, please jog my memory of you victories against Revan,_ which if uttered would have probably been his last: somehow he thought that the fully armed Ylon could easily become too trigger-happy, and unfortunately Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was securely stored in a secret compartment in his bunk. He scowled. Apparently, ancient history wasn’t a favorite school subject in Mandalore.

“You’re right, I’m no warrior, so let’s hope I’m dead already when you decide it’s time for you to conquer the galaxy and win.”

Ylon burst out laughing.

“You bet you’ll be, kid. Right now we wouldn’t be able to conquer an Ewok camp, let alone the galaxy. Your boring Republic can rest easy.”

Obi-Wan frowned, pretending to be deep in thought. He had decided to play the part of a slow but not-so-dumb average pilot: he would be witty, but he needed to make Ylon believe he necessitated of a little bit of rumination to elaborate on his thoughts. He didn’t want to look too sharp.

“But then… If what you wish is to conquer the galaxy, why fighting each other instead of focusing on your target? Not that I’m complaining, mind you”, he added, whilst commencing hyperspace jump. The navicomputer had just finished plotting the course to Mandalorian Space. It would take little more than three days to get there.

Ylon darkened.

“We don’t usually talk about our affairs with offworlders, Ben.”

“Yeah, I’d already gathered that much. Pity though, I bet some of them could make for a good story.”

“Yeah. Maybe another time. How many seconds ‘till the jump?”

“One hundred ten.”

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to the rear. I don’t want to be in the front row when a kid drives us into a supernova.”

Obi-Wan grunted.

“If you wish to miss the show. All passengers”, he announced in the commlink, “we’re ready for hyperspace jump.”

When Ylon left the cockpit, Obi-Wan sighed in relief.

Now it was just him and the void of space. As he put his hand on the lever, he realized it was trembling. His very first hyperspace jump. He was thrilled, and he was glad Ylon had left: he could savor the moment without having to worry about impressing the Mandalorian.

Twenty, nineteen… _What on heart will we do? What has she planned? We didn’t even have the time for discussing this._

Sixteen, fifteen… _I am really going to Mandalore, a place infamous and yet enticing for almost every Jedi._

Thirteen, twelve… _So much of our history has been intertwined with that of the Mandalorians_.

Ten, nine… _I just hope this won’t lead to another Mandalorian War. We’ve had enough of that already._

Seven, six… _But, Mandalorians and Jedi aside, what does this mission have in store for me?_

Five, four… _Will I truly be tempted by the Dark Side? How?_

Three, two, one… He pulled the lever, and as the stars turned into ever-changing stripes of light around him he let go of all his worries.

 _There is no emotion, there is peace_.


End file.
